Larkrigg Fell (40 page)

‘I know when I’m licked,’ he’d say. ‘It’s that fierce look in her eye. By heck, she’s a woman and half.’

Generally he obeyed her new rules, except in one respect. Once a day, no matter what the weather, he insisted on taking his usual walk, and made it last as long as possible, going much farther than Beth liked him to. ‘The fells haven’t finished me yet. Nor will they.’

‘You’ll never change him,’ Andrew warned, laughing at the tussle between his wife and grandfather. ‘It’s the walking that keeps him alive.’

Beth would sigh and shake her head and watch anxiously as he ambled down the lane, stick in hand. Then if he wasn’t back at the precise time he’d promised, she’d be putting on her coat and off searching, seeing if he’d recklessly gone too far, or climbed a stile he shouldn’t and fallen over. Yet he always returned safe and well, if in his own good time, grinning from ear to ear like a naughty schoolboy.

Beth’s bleakest moment came in the summer of 1982. The Falklands war had started in April, and she received a letter from Sarah to say that it was all over between herself and Pietro. They’d had a ferocious quarrel and gone their separate ways, which didn’t trouble her in the least, she insisted, as they had never, in fact, got round to marrying in the end.

The letter unsettled Beth for days. It came as a shock to hear that the wedding had never taken place. Sarah’s letters and cards had always been few and far between, saying little, and showing no inclination to come home on a visit, or to see her twin.

If I’d waited, Beth thought, would Pietro now be returning to me? And would she want him to? He’d always insisted that he loved them both.

It was too late for such troubling thoughts. She had her life here at Cathra Crag, a kind and loving husband, her precious son and, Beth suspected, a second child on the way. She was content.

And deep down was the relief of knowing that she need never see Pietro again, ever. There would be no risk of spoiling this quiet contentment, which had been so hard won.

By the end of July the Falkland’s war was declared over and celebration services were held all over Britain, including the tiny fellside church of Broomdale.

‘I’ve lived through five wars, and the invasion of Suez,’ said Seth proudly. ‘How about that?’

But the Falklands proved to be his last. On a day in early August, the very one on which Beth’s pregnancy had been confirmed and she and Andrew hurried home with their exciting news, they found Billy waiting for them at the farmhouse door. He was all flustered and shaking, having just that minute found Seth in his chair by the fire, quite dead. The old man’s hands were still resting on the last deer-headed crook handle he’d been quietly carving. He was ninety-one.

They gave him a good send-off, as Seth himself would have wished. All his family were at the funeral. His youngest sons, Billy’s two brothers, who had long since left farming and taken to town life. Any number of grandchildren, and, since Seth had been the last of four brothers and sisters, there was no shortage of nieces, nephews and cousins, together with their own prodigious brood. Beth was surprised and proud of the number who came, including many of his old friends, those who were still alive, for he had outlived most of his peers. They filled the small house to overflowing, spilling out over the farmyard and small neat lawn.

She couldn’t begin to remember who they all were but was simply glad they had taken the trouble to come, for one grand old man. ‘He’s had a fair crack of the whip,’ Billy said. ‘He wouldn’t want us to mourn.’

The other farmers agreed. ‘We’ll miss him at the farmer’s meet.’

‘Aye, we will that.’

‘And none could make a better stick than Seth.’

‘What a character he was.’

‘They built them to last in that generation, eh?’

As everyone tucked in to the ham, pork pies and apple tarts which Beth had made, she was alarmed by their appetites and laughter. It didn’t seem quite respectful somehow for people to laugh at a funeral. Yet she told herself sternly that this was a celebration of a good long life, not sorrow at an old man’s death. They wanted to remember him as he had once been, a vital part of this rural community in his day, remaining busy and useful right to the end of his long life. He would be sorely missed.

‘I shall always remember Seth’s kindness with great affection,’ Meg said, ‘as one of those dear friends who saved my life during the war. If it hadn’t been for him and his good wife, and Hetty and Will Davies of course, I might not have survived. I’d have starved before ever making a living from sheep. I’ve always been grateful for his quiet strength. Not to mention his advice.’

‘He gave me lots of wise advice too,’ Beth admitted, and knew she too would remember the old man with love and pride. He’d helped her more than she could ever repay, by making her take responsibility for her own happiness. ‘I did my best to make his last days comfortable and content.’

Meg hugged her. ‘I’m sure you did. And you’ve done him proud today.’

Beth was glad the funeral went off without rancour or a single sour note. The next day, however, was an entirely different matter.

The first of Billy’s brothers arrived before midday enquiring, without any preamble, as to the provisions in the will.

‘He did make a will, I suppose?’

‘Eeh, I wouldn’t know.’

‘Then hadn’t you best find out?’

But Billy was still searching by the time the second arrived. By early afternoon the small house was crowded with members of Seth’s prolific family. Nieces, nephews and cousins arrived by the score it seemed, parked their bottoms on every chair, completely comman-deered Beth’s kitchen and made baby Will cry with their loud voices and general turmoil.

Beth thought she might go mad with the uproar that went on around her. As Billy continued his frantic search upstairs, several of the more impatient got going on the parlour and in no time at all had turned the house upside down. They were desperate to find one scrap of paper which might outline Seth’s wishes for the disposal of his effects. As the fruitlessness of this search began to frustrate and irritate, voices became raised in anger, accusations made.

Only Andrew took no part. He came in for his noonday meal at the usual time, and again for his tea and in answer to Beth’s long-suffering expression and half raised eyebrow, he merely shook his head and went on his way again.

It fell to Billy to confirm finally what they had all feared. Seth had left no will, no instructions of any kind as to how he wished his home, his farm or his land to be disposed of. And it didn’t take a genius, Beth thought, to recognise that this meant trouble.

With laudable tact, Andrew finally persuaded every one of his relatives to leave, though not without difficulty.

‘It’s too late to discuss it now. I’m tired. Dad’s tired. We’re all tired. I’ve been working all day and want my tea. My child has to be put to bed. My wife has had enough. Right?’

It was only a reprieve. The next morning, bright and early, they were back. Every last one of them. And Beth was almost certain they had brought reinforcements. They all squeezed round the big kitchen table, elbow to elbow and fixed poor Billy with their corporate stare. Beth scurried into the back kitchen and started to brew endless pots of tea.

‘Bit careless of him not to make a will.’

‘He must have been ill-advised.’

‘I wouldn’t like to count the number of times we suggested it.’ Billy mourned.

‘You should have made him.’

‘You try making Dad do aught he didn’t want to.’

‘I heard he had some money stashed away.’

‘Not in this house.’

‘Happen you’ve spent it.’

‘Happen you’ll take that back, our Jim,’ Billy said, bridling.

‘Couldn’t he see there’d be trouble if he didn’t?’

‘He never considered anything of the sort,’ Andrew put in, the only calm voice in the overstuffed room. ‘He was afraid of dying, that’s all. He thought if he made his will, his number would be up. Daft, I know, but it’s how he felt and I’m sure he’s not the only one with such a notion.’

A few red faces confirmed this.

‘Right then,’ said Cedric, the middle brother, and as a clerk in a building society considered by the rest to understand about such matters as legal documents and wills. ‘There’s only one answer. Everything will have to be sold.’

‘What?’ Billy sat bolt upright in his chair. ‘What are you talking about? This is our home. Our livelihood.’

Beth felt herself go cold, and one glance at her husband’s frozen face offered little consolation. She sent a silent prayer that William would stay asleep in his cot upstairs. She didn’t want to miss any of this.

‘Not any more it’s not.’ This from Agnes, Cedric’s wife, and a woman, Beth decided, who obviously spent a good deal of time telling others what to do, when she wasn’t sucking lemons. ‘It was your home,’ Agnes explained, rather sanctimoniously, hitching up her bosom as she looked down her long nose upon them all. ‘It was your livelihood. Once. But it belonged to Dad, not you two, and now he’s gone. So everything’s changed.’

‘But I’m his eldest son,’ Billy protested, not able to believe his ears. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘You’ll get a good slice of whatever it cuts up for,’ said Cedric. ‘How many acres are there?’

‘Never mind how many bloody acres. It’s not for sale.’

‘If there’s no will, the estate belongs to each and every one of us. We have a claim too. That’s the law. There’s no reason why you should have it all. We’re his sons too, remember. You’ve had the benefit of rent-free accommodation for years, now it’s over.’

Billy’s mouth dropped right open.

‘Time you retired anyroad,’ Agnes concluded, nodding her head like one of those silly dogs found on the back seat of cars. Several voices rose in agreement.

‘You’d make my family homeless?’ Andrew asked, his face expressing the horror he felt.

Beth’s heart went out to him. It seemed that the goodwill expressed at the old man’s funeral had been buried with him. Today they only wanted to divide his spoils.

‘Billy could get a bungalow in Kendal. Or a flat in one of them new sheltered schemes, couldn’t you Billy?’ his other brother Jim put in.

‘I suppose so,’ he conceded, looking uncomfortable. ‘I wouldn’t mind that too much.’ He half glanced at his son’s face, still tight with anger, and felt guilty because he’d be happy enough to retire and live an easier life. ‘Only Andrew would be left with no farm, no home, nothing at all.’

This consideration didn’t trouble the rest of the family one little bit. ‘You’re young enough to get a job anywhere. Start summat new, or get taken on at some other farm,’ Agnes tartly informed him.

‘Which other farm? There’s more work for machinery than men these days, and such jobs as there are, pay little. I’ve a family to think of now. What am I supposed to live on? Fresh air?’

‘That’s for you to sort out. We’ve had to find us own jobs, and our sons and daughters too. Why shouldn’t you? It’s a tough world. None knows better than me the pain and suffering it can bring.’ Agnes pulled a large handkerchief from her bag, smelling strongly of the mints she sucked, and blew her nose into it with voluble mortification.

Any moment now, Andrew thought, she’d say she’d been a martyr to ill health all her life and he’d reach out and flatten her where she sat, like a great black beetle on his grandfather’s chair.

‘Buy a farm of your own, dear,’ Cousin Alice suggested, kindly patting his hand.

‘With the paltry sum I might get out of this when you’ve all taken your pound of flesh?’

Cedric politely cleared his throat. ‘There’s no reason for you to get anything, as a matter of fact, unless your father gives you a share of his bit.’

Giving a tightly suppressed explosion of fury, Andrew flew up from his chair and began to pace back and forth on the new hearth rug. ‘This is my home, my living. Dad and me have put our lives into this farm, our blood, sweat and tears.’ He hated this unsavoury disagreement over Seth’s money, but his alarm for the future mounted as he saw the resolution in all their faces.

Beth came to stand by his side and slid her hand in to his. ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered, wanting him to know it would make no difference. ‘We’ll manage.’

‘How?’ he snapped back. ‘Once these vultures have finished there’ll be nowt but bare bones left for us to pick over.’

She could see his point.

The arguments raged back and forth throughout the morning and long into the afternoon while she cut sandwiches and brewed tea and no one paid her the slightest attention. Only Ellen’s timely arrival saved her from complete collapse.

‘Sit down,’ Ellen instructed, sizing the situation up at a glance and at once taking charge in her bossy way. ‘I’ll feed the vultures for a bit. I’m good with wild animals.’

Beth sat in the back kitchen, crying her eyes out with William on her lap, listening to the arguments raging back and forth in the other room. In the end the discussion came to a halt, but only because they were all exhausted. Their decision was irrefutable.

‘We’ll go and see our solicitor first thing in the morning,’ Cedric said.

‘Aye, you do that. And we’ll see ours.’